Communicating for a Change Part 1

Communicating for a Change.

Andy Stanley.

Acknowledgments.

Most Christians can remember who was speaking the first time they heard the Scriptures taught in a way that captured their attention and created a hunger for more. For Lane and me, it was the same person. My dad. This book would not be possible apart from his influence. We would also like to thank our wives, Traci and Sandra. Specifically, we are grateful for their words of encouragement following messages where it might have been difficult to find anything encouraging to say. As always, we are grateful to Multnomah Publishers for their partnership and commitment to the local church. To our editors, Brian Thoma.s.son and David Webb, thanks for your insight and patience.

INTRODUCTION.

by Andy Stanley.

I never felt called to preach. I just volunteered. I wanted to feel called. But it just never happened for me. Several of my friends felt called while we were in high school. They went forward during a Sunday night service and shared it with the congregation. Everybody clapped. Some of them are still in ministry. I think one of 'em is in jail.

One afternoon I was driving somewhere with my dad. After one of those long moments of silence that fathers and sons have when driving together, I spoke up and said, "Dad, does a person have to be called into ministry or can they just volunteer?"

He thought for a moment. "Well, I guess it's okay to volunteer."

"Good," I said. "I would like to volunteer." So I did. In fact, it was two volunteer environments that shaped me as a communicator.

During my soph.o.m.ore year of college our youth pastor, Sid Hopkins, asked me if I would help him lead our Wednesday night student Bible study. That was a really strange request since we didn't even have a Wednesday night Bible study. Upon further investigation I discovered that he wanted me to start a study for our students. I had never led or taught anything in my life. I was a whopping two years older than some of the students I would be teaching. But I agreed to give it a try.

The good thing about being so young was that I knew what wouldn't work. Preaching wouldn't work. Teaching for twenty or thirty minutes wouldn't work. A verse by verse Bible study wouldn't work. Telling a bunch of stories and tacking on a point wouldn't work. So I decided to err on the side of simplicity. n.o.body told me how long our "Bible study" was supposed to last, so I didn't feel compelled to fill up a lot of time. I had been given a blank page.

On week one about twenty students showed up. I pa.s.sed out three by five cards with one verse printed on one side and a question printed on the other side. The verse for that first week was John 17:4.

"I GLORIFIED YOU ON THE EARTH, HAVING ACCOMPLISHED THE WORK WHICH YOU HAVE GIVEN ME TO DO" (NASB).

We talked about what it meant to glorify something. I explained that glorifying the Father was Christ's chief purpose for coming and that it should be ours as well. Then I had them turn the card over and spend thirty seconds thinking about an answer to the following question: What can I do this week to glorify G.o.d in my world?

Then I closed in prayer. The whole thing took about fifteen minutes. One point. One question. One application. Everybody stayed awake. Everybody was engaged. Everybody could remember what the lesson was about. Sid was a bit concerned about the brevity. But the next week the crowd grew. And it kept growing. Every week I handed out a card with a verse and a question. No music. No pizza. We didn't even have a PA system. That was my first experience as a communicator. It taught me a valuable lesson that would be reiterated a few years later.

In 1981 I moved to Dallas, Texas to attend Dallas Theological Seminary. At the end of my first semester, the princ.i.p.al of a local Christian high school asked me if I would present a message for their weekly chapel service. I accepted. Since it was high school students I decided I should pick a narrative portion of Scripture. Somehow I landed on the story of Naaman and Elisha. Naaman was the captain of the army of Aram. Elisha was a well, you know who Elisha was. Anyway, Naaman has leprosy and Elisha sends him to take a dip in the river. Naaman obeys and is healed.

I spent hours pouring over the story. I drew upon my vast knowledge as a first semester seminarian. I went to the library and researched the Arameans. I had pages of notes. I had an outline that went something like this: Naaman's Problem, Naaman's Pride, Namaan's Plea, Namaan's Proof. I was so overprepared.

The night before I was to give the message I was down beside my bed praying. I started praying for the students I was going to speak to the next day. I didn't know any of them personally, But I knew that from their perspective this was going to be just another chapel led by yet another unknown chapel speaker. Yawn. As I was praying, it occurred to me that they weren't going to remember one thing I said five minutes after I said it. I had spent hours preparing a lesson that no one was going to remember! What a waste of time and energy.

I got up off my knees, sat back down at my desk and determined not to let that happen. I got rid of my alliterated points and boiled it down to one idea. Then I worked on it until I had crafted a statement upon which I could hang the entire message.

The next day I told the story. I concluded with the idea that sometimes G.o.d will ask us to do things we don't understand. And that the only way to fully understand is to obey. We will all look back with a sigh of relief or feel the pain of regret. Then I delivered my statement: To understand why, submit and apply. I repeated it several times. I had them repeat it. Then I closed.

When I left the platform that day I knew I had connected. What I didn't realize at the time was that I had stumbled onto something that would shape my approach to communication.

Two years later, on a Sunday morning, a college student walked up to me and said, "Hey, you're that guy. You spoke at my high school chapel." Then he paused, collected his thoughts and said, "To understand why, submit and apply." He smiled, "I still remember," he said. Then he turned and walked away. He didn't remember my name. I never knew his. None of that mattered. What mattered was that those thirty minutes in chapel two years earlier were not a waste of time after all. One simple, well-crafted truth had found its mark in the heart of a high school student.

That Sunday morning was a defining moment. Since then I have prepared hundreds of outlines and preached hundreds of sermons. But my goal has been the same since that exasperating night in my efficiency apartment wrestling with the story of Namaan. Every time I stand to communicate I want to take one simple truth and lodge it in the heart of the listener. I want them to know that one thing and know what to do with it.

For the next couple hundred pages I'm going to download everything I have learned these past twenty years about developing an entire talk around one point. And I hope that at the end of our time together you will be willing to try some new things. Take some risks. Move out of your comfort zone as a communicator.

To help make our time together more enjoyable, my good friend and ministry partner Lane Jones has written a fascinating parable about a pastor who knew he needed to upgrade his communication skills but didn't know where to turn for help. n.o.body understands my communication style better than Lane. He has trained hundreds of pastors and teachers in the method contained in this book. He gets the credit for forcing me to sit down and begin a dialogue about my approach to preaching and teaching.

The material is outlined around seven "imperatives." We chose these seven because we believe they are most critical to the process of engaging and inspiring an audience with one solitary idea. Every sermon should take the audience somewhere. We are convinced that these seven things are critical to the journey.

Throughout the book we will use the terms "sermons," "talks," "teachings," and "messages" interchangeably. Also, we make no distinction between preaching, teaching, or general communicating. For our purposes they are all the same. These seven imperatives apply in some form to all three disciplines.

As you read along you may find yourself wondering, Isn't this just the way Andy communicates? Don't I need my own style? Surely this isn't for everybody. Chapter sixteen addresses that issue specifically and in detail.

One last thing. You will discover quickly that I am not a fan of fill in the blank outlines in a Sunday morning environment. However, when I communicate in a seminar or leadership training environment, I almost always use handouts with blanks to be filled in. Some have wondered if I'm teaching one thing while modeling something different. Not so.

As you are about to discover in chapter one, a communicator's approach to communicating must support their goal. My goal on Sunday morning is very different than my goal in most training environments. So I've adjusted my approach. In a seminar environment the goal is usually not life change. The goal in those environments is information transfer. An outline allows a communicator to cover more material in less time. In a preaching environment, less is more.

I hope you enjoy the book. If nothing else it is a glimpse into my world; a world where every day seems to be Sunday and I am expected to have something significant to say. The expectations are unrealistic. The pressure never goes away. But I can't imagine doing anything else with my life. And the fact that you have chosen to read a book on this topic tells me that you feel the same way.

1.

NO ONE'S LISTENING.

He'd seen them all before. Sometimes even in his sleep.

The blank stares and faraway looks that told him he wasn't connecting. Again.

Even as he continued to preach his message, another part of Pastor Ray Martin's brain rehea.r.s.ed a series of familiar observations.

There's John Phillips, sitting there trying to decide which stocks to dump tomorrow morning when the market opens. And there's his wife beside him, trying to decide whether or not to dump him. And Sally Kennedy, in her normal spot two rows from the back a A great location to keep tabs on who's here and who's not. And Norma Reed next to her, ready to supply the reason for anyone being missing.

They were all parked before him, listening to the messagea"or at least pretending to listena"as he tried his best to make the Word of G.o.d come alive in the twenty-first century.

Their distraction began to distract Ray. He found himself wondering if this was why those old fundamentalist preachers used to yell and pound the pulpit. It was no easy matter to keep a congregation's attention.

He felt a sudden, wild impulse to simply pick up his notes and walk off the platform. Had anyone ever done that? Just stopped preaching and walked out the back door? Would anyone even notice?

Just stare at the back wall, he told himself. It was an old trick he'd learned from a seminary professor. Just get through it; you'll be back next week. Hopefully they will, too.

Driving home that afternoon, he rehea.r.s.ed the comments of the congregation that morning as he shook hands at the door after the service.

"Nice job, pastor."

"What a blessing, pastor."

"One of your best, pastor."

That last one was particularly cruel, since the comparison wasn't qualified. Like telling your wife that, for her, her hair looked pretty good that day.

He wanted to ask them all if they had learned anything. But, ultimately, he wasn't sure if that was a fair question. If he couldn't answer it, why should they be able to?

"It shouldn't be this hard," Ray said to no one as he turned in to his driveway.

His wife, Sally, met him at the door for their Sunday afternoon ritual. They'd done this for the ten years that Ray had been pastor of Meadowland Community Church. Ray often looked forward to the message postmortem a but not lately.

"So how do you feel it went?" she asked, giving away her opinion.

"I don't know," he lied. "How do you feel it went?"

"Fine."

When all your wife and number one cheerleader can muster is a "fine," then you know it's worse than you think. Ray sank down into the sofa. "I just don't know, sweetheart. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I hate to say this, but Sunday morning has become just thirty minutes to fill. Thirty minutes that I start dreading an hour after I've finished the last sermon."

"That's a lot of dread, Ray. It can't be that bad. Your messages are finea"and you do a good job delivering them."

"Honey, if you worked all week to prepare a meal for me, and I said it was fine and that you did a good job delivering it, just how long would I be sleeping on the couch?"

"Oha"you know what I mean," she said.

Ray did know what she meant. She meant that it was fine, but fine wasn't good enough anymore.

"There has to be a simple solution to this," he finally said to Sally. "I must be overthinking it. Either that or it's something I've never heard before."

"Why don't you call that baseball guy?" Sally asked.

"What baseball guy?"

"The rich guy that got you so excited about trying new ideas at the church."

Pete Harlan. It had been almost six months since Ray had spent a memorable evening at the local major league ballpark, watching a game from the owner's seats. Things had gotten pretty complicated at the church, and a friend arranged for Ray to meet with Pete. A very successful businessman, Pete had shared with Ray seven practices that he had used to build his business empire. Seven practices that Ray and his elder board had been implementing with some encouraging success.

"What would Pete know about preaching?"

"That's what I asked you about church ministry, but you came home and changed everything. I figured if he could do that for the organizational side of things, maybe he can snap you out of this, too."

"I don't need to be snapped out of anythinga"and I really don't think Pete can help!"

"Well," she replied quietly, "then you really don't have anything to lose, do you?"

"I don't even know where his number is." Ray was in no mood to call anyone.

"Do you mean the number that's stuck in the corner of the framed picture of you throwing the ceremonial first pitch that night? The picture sitting on the mantle with Pete's card sticking out so everyone who comes into our house can see it? Is that the number you're talking about?" Sally was in no mood for a husband in a mood.

There were times when Ray wondered why he loved her so much. But this wasn't one of them. He knew he needed some advice and that Pete was indeed a wise man.

"Well, he did say to call if there was anything he could do," Ray said. "I'll call him tomorrow." It had been an hour since church had ended and Ray knew the dread was coming.

Traffic was light for a Monday as Ray drove toward La Frontera, a local Mexican restaurant he and Sally often frequented. It had good food at a cheap price, and the low prices made it an interesting choice for Pete Harlan.

Ray smiled in spite of himself. One of the richest guys in town, Pete picked one of Ray's regular spots to meet him for lunch. I guess there's a reason he has so much moneya"and hangs onto it, Ray said to himself.

He pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce next to a gleaming white Mercedes with a vanity plate that said "Pete." Apparently, car purchases weren't one of the areas where Pete felt inclined to economize.

Pete Harlan sat in a booth, smiling at Ray's approach. Ray remembered the first time he'd seen Pete. A short, middle-aged man whose demeanor belied his position in the community, Pete could've been any one of a dozen guys already digging into the chips and salsa.

"Ray! It's great to see you again," Pete said with genuine excitement.

"Thanks so much for seeing me on such short notice."

"No problem. Things pretty much run themselves these days, and that frees up a lot of my time."

"An organization that runs itself a now that would be nice." Even as the words left his mouth, Ray knew instinctively what Pete's response would be.

"Well, Ray, if you work hard enough at those seven practices I gave you, then by the time you're my age you should have plenty of time on your hands, too."

Ray then spent the better part of an houra"and a Burrito Grandea"updating Pete on life at Meadowland and the changes he'd been making. He also unloaded the reason for their meeting that day. He talked of the frustration of working as hard as he could at something, only to see himself fail again and again.

"I wouldn't call you a failure, Ray," Pete finally said. "Your sermons aren't as bad as others I've heard."

A wry smile crossed the pastor's face. "Now that's some consolation right there. I'm not the worse communicator that Pete Harlan has ever a Wait a minute, when did you ever hear me preach?"

"Oh, I've got my sources," Pete said with a grin. "I keep in touch with Joe, and I asked him to give me a couple of your tapes." Joe d.i.c.kinson was the mutual friend who had introduced Pete to Ray. "I told Joe that I had to keep an eye on my investment."

Pete had invested in Ray that night, sharing a lifetime of wisdom in a few short hours. A few million in the building fund would be nice, too, Ray thought.

"Those message tapes are a great idea. If they'd had those when I was younger, I might've gotten into church a little morea"or maybe a little more church might have gotten into me. You can listen in the car if you find yourself with some drive timea"and make the time count. And I like the fact that you can rewind if you don't get something. That doesn't work with a live preacher!"

Pete sipped on his iced tea then looked up into Ray's eyes. "How do you feel when you listen to them?"

"Listen to them? I don't even want to see thema"much less listen to them."

"Practice number seven," Pete said in a matter of fact tone.

Practice number seven. Ray knew it well and it embarra.s.sed him to have been caught red-handed. "Work On It. Practice number seven is to work on my ministry, not just in it. I know Pete, but this is different. This is a painful."

"Imagine how your congregation feels," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Thanks a lot."